Between the shadows of the studio blinds,
Shifted the cunning "high lights" as she moved.
O British Public, harken ere I die!
She, with a subtle smile in her bold eyes,
The herald of her triumph, well assured,
Half whispered in his ear, "I promise thee
The negative of my next photograph!"
She spoke and laughed, I shut my eyes in fear,
And when I looked, Paris had not the apple.
And I beheld great Heré's angry eyes